


Judgement Day (And Other Family Activities)

by gr0ss_cl0wn (orphan_account)



Category: Achievement Hunter
Genre: Age Regression, Art, Catholicism, M/M, Murder, Religious Themes, Sort of Stockholm Syndrome, Will add tags as I post, developed universe, featured art, medical violence, mentions of human trafficking, my art, organ harvesting, permanent age regression, religious violence, scripture angels, trained age regression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:08:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21851974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/gr0ss_cl0wn
Summary: Just a wholesome, three-parent three-adult-child family who hides more than just themselves away in their house.Geoff Ramsey will fight God for his loved one; and I’m not being hyperbolic here.
Relationships: Jeremy Dooley/Gavin Free/Ryan Haywood/Michael Jones/Jack Pattillo/Geoff Ramsey, OT6 - Relationship, Poly relationship - Relationship
Kudos: 17





	1. Peeping Toms

The neighbourhood was fairly large, only a few houses on a select side of town, up the hill, mattered. A side of town full of people who could afford to get seriously ill twice a year and people who could send their kids to a school that taught them to use ‘ill’ instead of ‘sick.’ The people with the pristinely trimmed cube hedges, the overdramatised garden gnome scenarios, the hanging baskets of ivy; those people.

Though, it was not the smallest house, painted lavender, that homed a retired married couple who’s matching power-scooters caught the attention of everyone in the cul-de-sac.

Not the huge, monochrome, modern-style mansion with the CEO of a nationwide company inside, every weekend a new hooker girl would be invited graciously inside and somehow the one from the week before would leave.

No, the house that mattered was two toned black brick and mint green paint, yellow roses that climbed up a wooden-grill over the side of the house, a huge, trimmed field for a garden, bare except for a shed and a wooden swing that looked like not even a hurricane could dislodge the thick iron framing. The outer walls were 2 meters high and black brick alike the building, which had 2 ceiling-to-floor windows in two of the 4 bedrooms that looked out, over the driveway. The house was built for a large family, it had 2 bathrooms, 3 bedrooms, 1 en-suite, a converted attic, a kitchen/dining-room mix, two lounges and a basement with its own small set of catacombs that spanned the width of the backyard. Funny thing, no one can remember if the house was built by the owners or bought. It just sort of appeared.

Even funnier, actually, no guests were permitted inside. When the moving van finally sped off, Claire and her daughters from number 23 weren’t so much as acknowledged, aside from her fruit cake being accepted and stolen away inside the mysterious house.

Postmen and pizza-delivery drivers were met halfway down the drive, never stealing a look inside. No family reunions or birthday party guests or holidays celebrated with other people.

It was always the same two people leaving the house on a day-to-day basis, with the exception of a few others on what were assumed to be birthdays.

One of the two people that ever left the house was a huge bearded bouncer-looking man; a one thousand yard stare in the direction of anyone trying to sneak a peak inside, even if you were hidden behind your bedroom potted plant. His beard was as thick as his muscles and he was built like a weightlifter—part of the fact he was never asked questions about his property while in the town, too intimidating to question on his personal life let alone why he was buying 3 packets of unicorn Oreos.

The second person that ever left on a regular basis was a scrawnier-yet-scarier heavily tattooed man that seemed to talk too much to strangers without revealing anything; he’d pry for any information he could suck out of you and then, when confronted with questions himself, he’d clam up and laugh off your curiosity like you were his child. His huge car seemed to change ever so slightly anytime you didn’t focus on it and he’d shower the other man in affection whenever he had caught you being a peeping tom.

However, these oddbods were not the only people on the property. Multiple adults and children alike had seen the other 4. The least weird was a blond man with muscles to spare, except this time it was a factor of his excessive attention. Married ladies from the other houses would flock him right up the huge gate of the mint and black house as he smiled and assured them that if they entered with him they wouldn’t exit. The women believed him heart and soul despite his frequent enters and exits, him sometimes arriving with boxes upon boxes and leaving with only the clothes on his back, sometimes arriving with nought and leaving with what could only be described as a filled bodybag.

Now, the other three being were much more eccentric. The first one you couldn’t tell whether they were a teenager or an adult on account of their fashion choices and baby-face. Multiple times a day the auburn-haired, freckled male would gawp and gasp at wild rabbits that had gotten into the garden like it was the first time he’d seen them. In the morning he’d come out in Legend of Zelda PJ set while in the afternoon he may be lucky to have the remnants of a babydoll clinging to his form. He was a beauty to behold but only did he ever come out for wildlife, or to swing with his brother? partner? nobody knew, as they never left the black brick walls.

The second male, a twinkling tanned delight. He’d usually only ever grace the presence of the outside world at sunrise, draped in a full body golden robe, or while being chased out by the other two boys. The amount of times Marilyn Newt from number 46 had seen his desirable thousand dollar lingerie pulled off by the two and- ravaged- was uncountable, yet she never seemed to report it. He’d swing for hours at the crack of dawn, from 4:45am to 6:25am, singing softly to himself. Someone used to say that he was a popular rent on a well used underground sex trafficking site, but no one would admit to who he was, or who spread the rumour.

The final male was obviously an adult, though a childlike one. He’d be in the garden almost always, dirtying up velvet shorts and tank tops while shouting ‘Spyro! Spyro!’ like a kid. If you looked closely, you could sometimes catch him and the first boy in one of the bedrooms, hands all over each other like honey on toast. The man was bald and bearded and constantly barefoot and definitely the most rambunctious of the three. He was supposed friends with neighbouring children until the two men from the start would come storming out of the house, scaring off the children and dragging the male by the ringed collar that constantly hugged his throat.

People had called the police, hired private investigators, attempted to spy on the inhabitants and even gone as far as to corner the homeowners and demand information. Nothing worked. Anytime the authorities were involved they’d go in, stay for an hour and report back to the civilian with the information that nothing was wrong, everything was sane and consensual and to keep their eyes to themselves if it bothered them too much. No information was to be found on this family, of sorts, other than that it was immoral and disturbing. Though, desire that, everyone in the neighbourhood wanted a piece for themselves, their sick little desires to pry, to know, to invade.

Geoff and Jack would never let that happen. No one was to know anything about their boys, and Ryan would help make sure of that.   


* * *

[This is an image I drew of the house, it’s posted to my Instagram :)](https://instagram.com/p/B6OnoesBwsO/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunrise to the downfall

As the suns honeycomb hue dissipated and melded into fresh blue, peppered with soft clouds over the purple horizon. The gardens grass was greener than ever despite reminiscent of satsumas, it brought with it a hungry thirst for cold orange juice, or maybe lemonade.

The suns whitened buttercup face looked directly onto the back wall of the house, filling every spot of the garden with sunlight and drowning the bedrooms in fresh sunlight.

Jack awoke the earliest. His lover stayed asleep as he readied himself for the morning. The sleek wooden floorboards of the second floor made no noise as he padded around in woollen socks, dragging his feet like giant bear paws. Each morning he woke up, the man would prowl around the corridors of the home like a beast, around its pride, with predators eyes; the chance that any outsider would dare attempt to get inside was a slim one but a little extra care is all it takes to protect his family. After, finally, checking that the curtain in front of the attics ladder hadn’t been disrupted, he felt contempt enough to make his way through to the kitchen for breakfast.

The home of his was simple enough. Him and his partner and their three little ones along with occasionally their half-time partner; the three daddies took care of their little boys and in turn they took care of their daddies, it was a complex, but easy, relationship. In the morning, the first up of the two stay-at-home daddies would make the breakfast. Jacks eyes had finally widened as he took his first step into the kitchen, he loved cooking. The fridge was huge and constantly stocked, two dozen eggs was a perfectly reasonable amount for breakfast. On a regular morning like this, the boys would each have 3 buttered pikelets, Geoff would have an omelette and Jack would have some fried eggs and toast.

As the smell of pepper and chives softly swam around the halls like clouds, sleeby eyes began to open and soft kitten yawns rang out. It was almost a cinematic moment, the boys waking up simultaneously with Geoff trudging tiredly behind. On one end of the house, sweatpants and slippers were being pulled on and wild hair was being combed, while on the other end, stuffed animals were being picked up from where they had been dropped and bells hung on collars jingled softly. Jack smiled at the sound of morning time, because he knew what was to come.

“Might as well enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Too right.”

Geoff’s appearance only increased the warm feeling in Jacks chest. He _really_ fucking loved his life.

The second the spatula-full of tiny pancakes clinked against the ceramic, six little feet came barrelling down the stairs like they were being chased. Geoff and Jack simply exchanged looks as Michael, Jeremy and Gavin came running to the table, shouting a cacophony of ‘good morning Daddy ‘nd Papa,’ ‘can I have the syrup please,’ and ‘I wanted the dinosaur cup!’

“Sit down nicely, and Daddy will bring you your breakfast.”

Geoff laughed into his coffee mug as the swarm of adult-children made its way away from his husband and towards the seats, still vivaciously giving good mornings and asking questions.

“Daddy, you’re up early today. Did you sleep okay?”

Jeremy’s morning voice was a delight to anyone’s ear, it was full of tiny voice cracks which exposed the genuinely caring nature behind it and was quite adequately described as sunshine as a song. Jack smiled at him and began to hand out the breakfast

“Yes baby, I just couldn’t wait for Game Night. Needed my little ones nice ‘n full first.”

Daddy took a seat next to Geoff at the six-seater, who was pretending to take interest in the paper-boy-delivered newspaper that he’d forgotten to retrieve before cooking; Their boys picked at the edges in mindless chatter about their dreams, their plushies, anything to distract them from their sleepiness.

Gavin tugged at one of Geoff’s sweatpant strings under the table, drawing his attention.

“Are we doing anything today, Papa?”

The older turned and skimmed the calendar that was stuck to the fridge,

“Nothing until midday, when Dada is coming over, then Game Night. Why, baby?”

“Me ‘n Jeremy are gonna play downstairs!”

‘Downstairs’ was the houses’ basement. It wasn’t infested with rats but did house the boiler, so it wasn’t actually cold, but Geoff didn’t like his babies down there nonetheless.

As much as he tried to steer them away from it, Geoff couldn’t keep the basement from his boys. The underneath was too interesting and they were too curious.

The basement was used for business purposes, such as murder, interrogation, dissection, grievous bodily harm and disposing of bodies; Jack would grind the excess meat in a large bin until it was not much more than a paste, and use it to fertilise the roses and plants around the property. The main basement room was made of large stone bricks and was fairly small except for a retired electric chair and tool clips on the walls. On one side of the wall were a pair of maple wood double-doors with glass window inserts that led to the catacomb system, and on the other side were 2 iron-bar cells that Ryan had asked for especially. Geoff never let him use them long term though, dead people got smelly.

“Do you have to baby? You know how much me and Daddy hate you going down there..”

His stupidly bright smile unintentionally branded Geoff like a hot iron, he already knew he’d lost.

“Yes, papa!! Jeremy said he found the perfect corner for a secret hideout!!”

Before Geoff could try to ease them off of the idea, they’d already digressed into more mindless bickering about their toys. The pro and con of being a caregiver: your lil’ regressors have 0 attention span. A pro because they won’t get bored but a con because of this exact situation. But they were cute, so there was that.

The rest of the morning continued like an ocean current carrying a school of three fish; calming and steady with a small element of childlike happiness inside. The steady hum of the dishwasher, the peppering of Geoffs snores, the flipped pages of Jacks book, the clinking of small teacups from the patio. The quietly ticking clock in the hallway sang its song. How cliche would it be if something or someone were to ruin this moment, to open the dishwasher and spill suds and boiling water everywhere? Well, that would be quite the cliche, but I’m guessing you came here for drama, dear reader.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!!! sorry for this not having a picture attached, none of the rest will. My files are going to be deleted soon and this is too much writing to just let it get deleted. :P!!!


	3. Uncivil Welcoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visitors from another world.

The three baby boys were sat, cross-legged, on the floor in the foyer. The smooth hardwood was perfect for laying on, but it did make them vulnerable to their Papa pretending to step on them whenever he sauntered past.

The flowery little tea-set was soft pinks and oranges, with small hand painted fig trees on the tea pot. It was a gift for Gavin, but Michael used it the most.

“Would you like a scone?”

“A what?”

“A cakey biscuit.”

“Oh! Yes please!”

Gavin handed Jeremy a plate the size of a CD with a small square of loaf cake atop it. Jeremy nibbled politely on his pretend scone and passed the plate back.

“Yummy, yummy, thank you!”

Ever so softly, Jeremys ears picked up rustling outside, in the garden. His eyes met his brothers eye who, assumedly, had also heard the noise. Michael and Gavin quickly put down their little teacups and they all quietly got up, tiptoeing to the cracked open patio doors.

They all peeked through the gap in the doors fast enough to notice a pair of hands letting go of the top of their garden wall, a person had fallen into their garden.

“Jeremy..”

Michael’s whisper was near deathly silent; their Daddy was immersed in his book about three or four metres away from them but he would still hear them if they moved too quickly.

Jeremy signalled for Michael to grab onto the door as he positioned himself next to it, ready to open it slowly.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Jeremy pulled the door back as Michael pushed it. They left it at about quarter-way open, making sure the cool summer air wouldn’t flood the living room but still letting them out. Sure of their safety, the three made their way to the bushes. Gavin’s excitement as he skipped across the garden was glowing. Jeremy and Michael, however, clutched the tea-party guest plushies they’d brought along.

“Ah! How exciting!! I don’t think anyone’s ever made it over the wall before!”

“No,” Michael reprimanded nervously, “Remember those 2 girls?”

“Well, they don’t count because Dada Ryan got to them before we could meet them!”

As they’d approached the bushes, the hushed whimpers were becoming apparent. Jeremy put his finger to his lips like they did in time-out and the trio listened intently.

“Barbara and Mariel can’t still be here Blaine!”

“Jon, I’m telling you, they didn’t run away. They told me.”

Barbara and Mariel were the two girls that Dada had found trying to climb the wooden grate. Gavin and Michael exchanged looks as they continued their earwigging.

“Blaine. Think about it. It was Mariels handwriting on the running-away note!”

Jeremy finally got fed up of the bickering and piped up.

“Why are you in Daddy’s hedge?”

Silence. Numbing, mouldy silence. Like thick yoghurt that had been left in the dirty dishes for too long, with soft green patches of fungus and a foul smell to match.

Suddenly, a weak little voice started sniffling, and spoke up.

“Please, _please_ don’t take us away.”

Sobbing, weeping. Jeremy almost felt sorry for frightening the mystery plant people.

“Come on, get out of there before you ruin the soil!”

Gavin pulled the two boys out of the hedge as Jeremy and Michael stepped away.

One had long, wavy dark hair and circular glasses with a yellow button up. The other had short cut dirty blond hair and a football jersey that was a size too big. They were both crying, but the blond one was trying really hard not to let any slip.

“So, I’m guessing you’re Blaine,” Blaine nodded at Gavin’s pointed finger, “and you’re Jon.”

“Yeah- please, don’t hurt us.”

Gavin smiled just a bit and instinctively wiped the tears off of Jon’s cheek.

“Don’t worry, love! You’ll be just fine with us.”

“Nuh-uh, with you. I don’t want anything to do with this, you know Papa’s rules about outsiders.”

Michael said, as Jeremy mumbled something about agreeing and hung his head like a dog. Gavin found this downright silly, and wasn’t afraid to say so.

“Oh, shut up Michael! These people are friendly! Daddy wouldn’t hurt a friendly outsider.”

“Whatever. C’mon Jeremy.”

Jeremy and Michael turned and both skittered away, back inside the house, and left Gavin to his own devices. Gavin just looked at these new people and smiled politely.

“So, who are you people? Why are you in our yard?”

The smaller, brunet boy broke down.

He hung his head, hair covering everything but his sadness, and sobbed onto the grass. It was quite a wonder his knees hadn’t given out, given how knobblier they were from normal knees.

“Have—have you seen Mariel?”

Blaine, the other boy, looked over at Gavin finally. He had a questioning look underneath all of those tears.

“Nope. We don’t get other visitors. My Dada and Daddy are super str—“

“ _GAVIN_!”

The two boys, Blaine and Jon, could’ve almost watched the golden glow of Gavin’s face drain out like bath water as it was replaced with guilty panic.

Confusion in the form of tears appeared in Gavins once-shiny eyes and he almost melted into a puddle of goop before this terrifying, large, power-walking man had been able to cross the yard and throw him out of the way.

There wasn’t any screaming, no wailing or begging, there was just fear. Pure, unadulterated, motionless panic. Both of Jon and Blaine’s throats were grabbed and the air stopped flowing, but there was still no noise. Jon had already went limp by the time Blaine was even starting to loose his senses, he heard the man shout for someone to ‘call Ryan’ before his vision dropped.

Gavin, however, was crying into the air.

He was on the ground, on his knees, with his head back, openly crying with tears streaming down the sides of his face. as Jack looked back at him, he really did believe he was a toddler for a second.

“They didn’t do anything you- you—“

Jack just turned around quite angrily, allowing the children’s bodies to drop to the garden floor, and grabbed Gavin’s body instead.

He pulled Gavin into a hug and smothered his smaller frame into Jacks own.

Jack shushed his fried and put pressure on the back on his head, choking off his air supply. Gavins hands beat on Jacks chest, trying to push him away and breathe again, but it was no use.

He started writhing erratically after a minute or two, muffled screams boring directly into Jacks soul — then became deadweight in Jacks arms.

“I hate it when you have to do that.”

Ryan strolled across the yard quite leisurely for this specific situation and didn’t even glance at the two children behind Jack, who had moved Gavin into his arms — bridal-style.

“This is four people now Ryan. I don’t care if they’re young, people are trying to get in.”

Ryan looked away, eyebrows slightly furrowing.

“Why don’t we just buy some fashionably spiked fence? I’ll sharpen it to a point.”

Jack knew he was trying to keep him from panicking, but he did think it was a good idea.

He dwelled on the idea for a moment, and didn’t realise he was staring right at Gavins body until Ryan piped up.

“If you’re worried about our little animal lovers, we can get the boys a bird feeder, so they won’t miss out on any of the latest news of the bird world.”

Jack chuckled, just a little.


	4. Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best laid plans of mice and men, as they say.

“Please!! Please, no!! Don’t do this, Papa!!”

Gavin was in the shed, on his knees. He had been stripped of his clothes and instead been dressed in ropes, arms tied to little rings on the floor behind him so he couldn’t do anything but pull his shoulders from their sockets and struggle. Fat tears broke his eyes into shattered mirrors as his beloved Papa circled him, a hefty pipe wrench clung in his vicelike grip.

His plush thighs burned as he bounced on them, desperately shaking and trying the pull away; even though he knew he was being punished, he still desperately wanted the embrace of his Papa.

Gavin woke up like this. The shed was where punishments were handed out and, quite unsurprisingly, Gavin ended up in there a fair amount.

The shed was big enough to have a decent amount of walk space while still being claustrophobic. It didn’t reek of mildew and sour dust despite being made of wood, and it was fully carpeted.

It was intended to be installed with a smaller attached room off to the side, but Jack had patched up the missing wood and used the small room as a box for grinding up bodies.

The look on his Papa’s face was utterly unreadable — That scared Gavin.

“What are my rules, Gavin?”

Gavin just continued to cry, not wanting to answer. Not a good idea, in hindsight.

Geoff swung the broad object to the floor, a sickening thud rang out. Gavin just cried louder.

“WHAT ARE MY RULES, GAVIN?”

“Don—Don’t talk to strangers! Papa, please!!”

The sobs and cries bore into Geoff over time, but he needed to make sure his little one learned his lesson. Outsiders were sick, vile creatures and to learn that his little sunshine had let some inside their utopia? It was unthinkable. Family came first, but privacy was a close second.

“Baby boy, you’ve been really bad.”

“Do you care to explain yourself before we start or do you just want to sit there and cry?”

Geoff squatted down, ready to listen to his baby. What he didn’t expect, even after countless times of it happening, is how Gavin whimpered and leaned forward. He complied, and let the boys soft cheeks squish into his collarbones.

Geoff was still human, after all.

“I just wanted friends, Papa.. you never let me get to know anyone except Micheal and Jeremy...”

“You know I only do it for your own good, you're too unstable.”

The tears went unheard but the wet patches still sunk into Geoff’s shirt.

Geoff’s hand was calming, soothing on Gavins bare back as he pulled away. He didn’t make noise as the warmth left, his Papa left. He just let the tears form and drop down his face.

Hands as warm as sunlight cupped his cheeks, but the freezing sting of the pipe wrench was there between the fingers. It was the underlying note of violence in their symphony, it was always there, even if you didn’t notice it the first time round.

“Okay, baby. Papa’s sorry.”

Geoff stood up and unscrewed the pipe wrench, readying his weapon.

Gavins cries just got louder and more desperate as Geoff ignored him, like a child hanging off of a parents clothes as they scolded them. Gavin tried to bargain, tried to bribe, beg and ball his way out of it, but the punishment was inevitable.

“Baby, what do you say for breaking our rules?”

Through red, puffy eyes and a ripped raw throat he managed to make a noise.

“I’m sorry, Papa, please don’t-“

“Papa’s sorry, angel. Papa is really sorry, but you’re a naughty boy.”

Gavins face slid from unwanted curiosity to realisation. His face was a painting of sadness, pure, unconfined sadness.

The fear and panic of not wanting the punishment overtook any guilt that he had from actually letting the children stay inside. He was taught to always stay away from outsiders, to tell whoever’s home if you see some inside or near the house. He thought it was all a load of rubbish.

Gavin hated the entire atmosphere around the rules; he followed them mindlessly, but wished he didn’t have to. He especially hated the atmosphere around the shed, and avoided it at all costs, seeing as he was usually here without consent.

His Papa slipped behind him and softly smoothed the ropes around his wrists.

Geoff, one by one, took Gavin’s soft fingertips under the pipe wrench’s steel mouth and he twisted the screw.

The squawks and screams just grew louder as the steel flattened his pretty little nails; they went red, then purple, then black.

Geoff didn’t stop until he heard the first *crack* of his nail, then he swiftly undid the screw. Repeating the process, breaking each one of his baby’s nails until they were all black with sealed blood. Gavin’s screams were heard in the house, across the street, down the whole cul-de-sac, but that didn’t urge Geoff to stop. Not until every one of his precious boys nails were as pitch as night.

Every crack, another scream added into the choir. Gavins screams were like heavens fanfare; deafening, holy.

With each crunch, Geoff’s whole body twitched. He grunted and sighed, but it wasn’t out of second-hand pain.

This was almost arousing. He wouldn’t dare say it out loud though.

The private idea that, after this, he’d be able to praise his boy for taking it? Who wouldn’t be incredibly grateful for his misdemeanours.

He refused the idea of it being Stockholm Syndrome or manipulation, it was just a punishment that his little boy was so good at taking.

The wept words were incomprehensible as the final screw was undone. Gavin’s eyes were screwed shut so tight his vision had to come back, and when it did he was met with his Papa’s soft smile.

“You did so great, Gavvy. You didn’t even pass out once.”

The praise made Gavin’s little heart flutter and swell in his chest, but he didn’t let it show.

“You—You _hurt_ me.”

Geoff’s soft smile twisted into a pitiful grin.

“Yes baby, but only because you were bad. Papa loves you.”

Silence was a foul smell, even for that split second it was apparent, it stuck and ingrained into every plank of wood in that shed.

“Can you untie me, Papa?”

Geoff’s smile faltered a crack.

“No, baby. You know that punishments don’t work like that.”

Gavins heart just about deflated right then and there.

“Wh—Why? Papa you said I’d been good! I didn’t pass—“

He tossed the pipe wrench behind Gavin and it crashed into the toolbox. Metal-on-metal assaulted Gavins eardrums for a single painful second, he hoped that it wouldn’t bounce off and hit his bleeding fingertips.

Geoff ignored him. He didn’t know why he got so angry after the punishments, but his boys always asked to cut it off early — maybe it was the anger of them acting like they hadn’t learned anything from the experience.

He used a spray bottle of disinfectant and a rag to wipe down Gavins weak fingers, not even registering that he was talking.

The blood seeped into the loosely strung-together rag and it just glowed orange. That burst of oversaturated orange could come from those deep black nails?

His baby sure was talented.

Geoff crouched down right infront of Gavin, and softly lifted his chin with a single finger.

“Okay Gavvy, Papa’ll come and get you in 7 hours, for Game Night.”

He pushed forward and pressed an air soft kiss to his cold-sweat forehead.

He stood and stepped around Gavin.

Not another glance.

The door shut stiffly and the audible, rusty scrape of the padlock holding the door shut was enough to make Gavin begin to cry even harder than before.

He wasn’t crying because of the ignorance, he was crying because of how easy that switched was flipped in Geoff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if there’s any mistakes I missed, I want to get my writing published before my files are deleted :)


	5. Dissmissed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to accompany unwelcome guests 101: how to get away with murder.

The basement was very loud for such a silent atmosphere.

Ryan clicked his sharp little scalpel against the metal helmet of the chair. The boy, who was strapped into the device, was sobbing, but not making much sound due to the scraps tied around his head.

“How desperately I asked for Geoff and Jack to let me plug this in. ‘Too much power wasted’ they’d say as I laughed, but oh, how much I’d love to have it operating.”

Blaine’s eyes fluttered open and close indecisively as the tears were pushed off his waterline, rejected, almost.

His shirt had been torn off and his lean layers of skin and muscle had been sliced, cauterised open, his innards being kept moist with a spray bottle.

The pump of his heart was slow between his lungs, and the shallow breaths he took barely shook them; his stomach lurched every few minutes due to the digestion system and probably some fear while his eyes barely made it through the chilling experience without the supplied shots of adrenaline.

Every 20-30 minutes that passed, another injection took place. In that time, Ryan could take out two or three of the kids organs to sell to desperate parents, low-stock hospitals or even a few perverts and/or cannibals.

It was quite a fun experience, to be honest. If it didn’t sound too edgy to say, Ryan would probably call it therapeutic.

The gentle way he handled the organs, making sure not to damage them. The warmth from inside the body, almost overwhelming. The smoothness of flowing blood. The slicing of the various fleshy tubes. It was therapeutic — if you’re not sensitive to gore.

He crouched down and peered inside, looking around. Ryan has disposed of the intestines, if you wanted to sell them for cannibalism you had to clean out the contents, and the small intestine was so long it made the whole experience boring.

He pushed his scalpel into the intercostal muscles, having already tore apart the diaphragm, and the boy didn’t make so much of a sound as a hard exhale.

He skipped the next adrenaline shot.

Within an hour and a half, the child was dead and Ryan had tore his way to the brain, getting it out before all of the blood seeped into the boys feet. He was ready for Ryan’s lover to come down and peel him, sell the bones and grind the meat. Oh, how he loved intruders.

He looked back, over his shoulder, to the other boy.

“What’s his name?”

The other kid had the everlasting, permanent look of the last moment before the life slips out of someone in his eyes. It was a mix of fear and acceptance.

“His name is Blaine,” the other kid answered.

“Damn, snitching so fast.”

Ryan wandered around infront of Blaine, spritzing his abyss of a abdomen with cold tap water. The blood mixed easily with the beads of water and ran down his bulbous bladder like condensation on a bathroom mirror.

“So Blaine,” he started. “I hear that you wanted to come into my home?”

Blaines eyes didn’t move from where they were stapled to the other kids cell.

His mouth was slightly ajar, and Ryan had the smallest thought to jam his fingers inside the kids mouth and tear back, pulling his jaw from his skull.

His ears started to ring, and he pushed the intrusive thought back.

“What made you think that that was an acceptable thing to do.”

The next kid, he couldn’t have been less than 12, was quite a quiet one. Long hair, meek posture. He didn’t need harvesting, he’d go straight on a platter, apple in the mouth all charred.

“You, what’s your name?”

The kid was in the furthest cell, hiding in the far corner. It’s not like Ryan couldn’t see him, he absolutely could. He sauntered over with the surgical pliers in hand and leaned against the blood-rusted bars.

“Y’know, if you look at me, I won’t cut you up.”

The only thing Ryan appreciated about actual children were how easy they were to manipulate.

It seemed like an unfair deal, but Jon took the offer as it worked in his favour, his blue eyes meeting ice.

“What do you _want_?”

His voice broke and his tears slipped down his face, they were salty on his lips, but he was still chock full of feigned confidence. He glared daggers at this man who’d locked him up - all because of Blaine’s shitty 4 month girlfriend.

“Well, I can either sell you to a human trafficker,” he stopped and watched Jon’s face pale, “or I can throw you into my chair and sent you to him in fractions.”

Jon’s face honestly almost went green. He looked down, his legs felt too weak to try and run, but he also didn’t have any other choice.

The feeling of being utterly and truly fucked set into his brain like a cubic metre of bricks. He wretched into the wall, gagging on his own tongue as saliva washed down his chin.

The worst part? The other man smiled as he did it. This fucking sicko smirked as he was being forced to choose between being eaten or being sold.

“I’m gonna need an answer, little one.”

“Fuck you.”

The last sounded better than the other option. Would Jon rather get— whatever happens to trafficking victims or get killed right now right here?

“You’re an _asshole_.”

“Kid, you better watch your mouth before I make this a whole lot worse for you.”

Tears trailed down Jon’s face as he stood up. He stared, desperately, at the man infront of him, looking for any type of weak points, a way out. He just wanted to see his mom and dad again.

The man sighed, and said,

“Okay, I’ll pick.”

“What?”

He pushed forward to the cell doors’ lock, and unlocked it.

Before Jon could even register what was going on, his head met a hard fist and his whole body ricocheted off of the wall of the cell and into the floor with a sound that could be adequately described as ‘dead person.’

Ryan carelessly flicked his hair back onto his shoulder and sunk into the silence.

It was easy enough to unstrap and heave Blaine into Jack’s grinding box, but Jon’s more ‘full of organs’ body needed a little more heavy lifting.

The blood on his hands trailed through the indents of his skin and cast a nice orange hue over his pale flesh. He didn’t particularly like the smell of blood, but he wasn’t one to complain when it came to business.

It gave a little stick to his grip that couldn’t be achieved when wearing gloves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, Gavin, Michael and Jeremy aren’t actual children. They’re in their mid 20’s-early 30’s in this story, while Jon and Blaine are early teens

**Author's Note:**

> awesome!! I’m super excited to start out this new story (which WAS previously called Garterbelts, Gunshots and Game Night!!!!!) 
> 
> I basically restarted the entirety of GGG and implemented more Catholicism, or whatever.
> 
> I hope y’all enjoy!!! GGG was fun to write but I didn’t like where it was going plot wise OR writing wise, and my writing style changed drastically after the second chapter.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy where this goes! The chapters will be posted in bouts of 1.1k — 1.3k words if I keep to it, and each chapter will come out with its own little drawing hopefully!! I hope you check them out :))!!!!


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